


The Wing Collectors

by impish_nature



Series: Birds of a Feather [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Mystery Trio, Wing AU, more like Original Mystery Twins, vaguely anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6740521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday present for the lovely @cirilee! Bit late, sorry hun ♥<br/>Wing AU meets Mystery Trio (kind of) Stan and Ford meet up ahead of time in rather unsavoury circumstances. Ford learns some horrifying truths about Stan that puts a few things into perspective.<br/>Decided that though it has an au name - I may write a series of most probably unrelated oneshots (that won’t all follow mystery trio/are more likely to follow canon) are going to go under the title ‘Birds of a Feather’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wing Collectors

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I should probably put that I found out about the Wing au through headcanons and then got Lee to explain more details to me :3 So I added my own twist to it. There’s a lovely short story (http://michi-nii.tumblr.com/post/138821099210/inkskinned-in-another-world-when-you-are) (link is not to main source just where I can find it easily) that is what I am basing the reasoning behind the Wing au working in my head. And because that story almost made me cry with how it deals with platonic/familial love ♥.

“I am _so sorry_.”

This was not supposed to happen.

Ford wasn’t even entirely sure _how_ it had happened. All he knew was that his wings were itching, his feathers out of place and wonky from being manhandled and he was pretty sure there was blood dripping sluggishly from the back of his pulsing skull.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten in to trouble. He was a rarity after all. Him and his brother had both been, their wings somehow mutating as much as his fingers had to shock both parents when they had been born. Except unlike his fingers, his wings had been a desirable trait, lucky to touch, lucky to possess, and he wasn’t sure which mutated trait he hated more because of that. What with his father plucking feathers whenever it got near bill time, calling it his and his brothers ‘duty to help the family’ whenever they cried out at the painful action.

Even at college he’d run into a few troubles and learnt how best to protect himself. Made sure not to leave the library at night alone, made sure not to get too drunk on the few instances his flatmate got him out in the first place. Hell, he’d even contemplated taking self-defence classes again. Anything and everything to keep himself safer. But it had never gotten too bad, never gone too far and so he’d forced away the bubbling paranoia that engulfed him and had him gripping his satchel bag every time he had to make a swift journey at night.

Now he was wishing that he had paid attention to that feeling and done more to protect himself.

It had been just like any other night or so he had thought. He had let his work get the better of him, taken a trip to a big city to investigate urban anomalies that were said to happen there and hadn’t noticed the time until the sun was setting and he realised he was a 20 minute walk away from his hotel. So he’d started up, too tired to really care and unperturbed of the growing darkness by far too many walks in Gravity Falls where everything was small and quiet and attacks were few and far between.

He’d kept to the brightly lit streets, the ones still thrumming with life at the late hour, the only caution his brain had allowed as he walked through the crowded pavements. He strained his still aching head to search for more but that was about it. He could swear that he felt a hand on his arm, a tug that sent him lurching to one side and then nothing. Nothing but darkness. And then he’d found himself here, locked in a small room with a sneering man who seemed to know his name somehow staring back at him before he was left alone.

He was almost hoping it was all some kind of dream. There was no way that this was happening, that people would go to such lengths. But then again, he’d heard the horror stories of the big cities, heard the usual ‘my friend knows a friend who lost their wings to the black market’ but he never truly believed that it would ever happen to him.

He also couldn’t believe he had _let_ it happen to himself.

But the scariest and also most unbelievable thing was that the man had seemed to know him. Maybe he’d heard wrong, maybe the throbbing pain in his head had skewed his hearing, made him delusional.

His worries on that front were confirmed when another person was pushed into the room with him and he recognised his brother through his fuzzy vision.

There was no way his brother could be here. He must have a concussion.

“Stanford? Hey, Sixer, you in there?”

“Stanley?”

His brother let out a puff of relieved air as he responded, tilting his head slowly to take a look at the gash along the top of his skull, an annoyed growl escaping him as his fingers came away sticky with blood. “What? Couldn’t tell the difference between us, jackass?”

Ford blinked, tilting his head slightly to see behind Stan and saw the other man standing there again, mouth a vicious smile that seemed more of a snarl. He shuddered at the predatory look.

“What do I care? Two for the price of one. And to be honest, you’ve almost cost more than you’re worth, pretty boy.”

Stan hissed, spinning back to him but the door slammed shut before he could even take a step, a lock clicking into place with dreaded finality behind the noise. Stan’s wings drooped, his hand coming up to tug at his hair. “Shit…”

“Stan? What’s going on?”

Stan jumped, spinning at Ford’s voice and scuttling back in front of him, his face apologetic and guilty in a way that Ford wanted to smooth away. “Hey, you. Didn’t- Didn’t think I’d meet you again in a place like this.”

“Neither did I.” Ford managed to smile, the action forced and oddly painful. His eyes travelled over Stan’s face, appraising him as they sat barely a foot away from one another after years of nothing. A pang of sadness went through him at the image, his own face mirrored back at him but gaunter, sharper, the spark he had always known less prominent in the man that stood before him. “Where exactly are we?”

Stan’s face dropped further, a hand creeping up to rub at the back of his neck. “Not exactly sure but I do know why we’re wherever we are.” His voice went up an octave, his face scrunched up as if waiting for a blow – physical or otherwise. “I _might_ have gotten on the wrong side of a bunch of wing collectors-”

“ _Stan_.” Ford couldn’t help the shocked gasp that escaped him, even as Stan winced, his eyes opening again in annoyance at the interruption even if he knew it had been inevitable.

“What? It’s not like it’s easy to stay on the good side of wing collectors when you’re living rough on the streets and you’ve got stupid wings like these.”

Ford watched as Stan flourished his wings at him, his scrutiny turning to them instead. It was only a small glance before Stan moved them just out of sight again, but it was enough to see the sheen was gone, the dusting of feathers patchy at best in some areas that spoke of more than mere struggles with the Wing Collectors to have them in such a sorry state. “You were sleeping rough?” The words came out without his permission, and he felt his mouth snap quickly afterwards with a curse. He blamed the head wound for destroying his brain to mouth filter.

Stan raised an eyebrow, his face an incredulous mask. “Well, duh? I mean, high school dropout, no qualifications or address to get a steady job. Oh and whilst I did manage to somehow keep some feathers which meant I wasn’t, you know, completely untrustworthy in societies eyes, I still lost quite a few when I got kicked out of the house over an accident.” He stood up straight, now awkwardly averting his eyes. “Guess I’ve got Ma to thank for that one.”

“That’s not fair, you still cost me my dream. And besides just because I was angry didn’t mean I stopped…” Ford sighed, annoyance somehow managing to rise up through the pain. He shook his head and blinked away another wave of sickness the motion brought with it. “This really isn’t the time, is it?”

Within seconds of him wincing Stan was back on him, his mask of indignation slipping back into raw concern and guilt as he went back to checking Ford over and looked around for something to stem the flow of blood with. Luckily it was a fairly shallow cut but it was still dripping down his neck enough to irritate. “Yeah, you’re right. As always. Besides, it’s not like I can’t be angry at you. I keep ruining things for you, s’all I ever do, isn’t it?”

Ford felt a small reproachful noise slip up his throat but if Stan heard it, he ignored it as he ripped a strip of his shirt off and held it up to Ford’s head. “Right, wing collectors. What did you do?”

Stan shrugged. “Not much, just found myself on their turf. Refused to pay a toll of a few feathers every month to keep them off my back. I only really pluck them if I’m really short of money, considering they keep me afloat in normal everyday life.” He started to fiddle with one of Ford’s wings, tweaking a feather back into place without even thinking as he spoke. “Couldn’t leave quick enough and they got the drop on me but I managed to escape.”

Ford felt the hand on his head shake against his wound and flinched with the motion, earning him a soft litany of apologies as Stan’s hand returned to its steady pressure.

“Turns out as I got away the first time they sent out a photo of me to the nearby cities to let their associates know I might be coming. Only then- then you came along and they thought you were me and I’m- I’m so sorry for getting you mixed up in all this. I’ll get you out of this, don’t you worry, OK? They won’t touch you again, I won’t let them. I’ll strike some kind of deal, get you back to whatever nerd research you were up to and you won’t have to worry about seeing them or me ever again.”

“If they thought I was you, how did you get caught again?” Ford managed to get the words out, tried to stay impartial to the connotations behind Stan’s words as he rambled in a panic in front of him. While his face didn’t betray him, his heart was beginning to speed up as unbidden thoughts of what Stan meant filtered through his mind.

“I heard they had apparently caught me. The only person I could think about that they might have instead was you so…you know, couldn’t let that happen.” Stan let out a shaky breath, pulling the strip away to assess the damage again before continuing.

“I am _so sorry_.”

“Stan stop. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Even if they hadn’t been looking for you, it’s like you said. These wings are kind of hard to live with sometimes, aren’t they?” Ford stretched his wings feebly, before leaning back against the wall and covering Stan’s hand with his, taking over the stemming when Stan seemed too high strung to keep the cloth steady. “I mean, I’ve had my own fair share of incidents- nothing like this but still, college could be a bit-”

Stan was up before he’d even finished, his eyes dark and his feet pacing, his body too restless with everything that was going on to keep him still. His wings fluffed up around him, weapons that he had grown used to using even as a kid and packed quite the punch, now came up as an unconscious barrier against the world. “Who? Where do I find them? I knew I should have followed you to college and kept an eye on you no matter what! Even if you hated me and said you never wanted to see me, I should have stayed and looked after you.”

There was a small part of Ford’s heart that felt humbled by Stan still venomously raging over someone even thinking about hurting him, considering the bad blood he assumed would be between them on both sides of the argument. “Stan, you can’t blame everything on-”

The words caught on his tongue as Stan did another circuit of the room. He felt like his insides had suddenly hollowed, like the floor should give way under him and swallow him whole.

Something was wrong.

_Very_ wrong.

“Stan…”

“Yes, I can blame everything on me. I’m a screw up, it’s all I ever do! And now I’ve got you into this mess, the one worthwhile thing I can do is get you out of it. I’ll give them my wings without a fight if they-”

“ _Stan_.”

Stan stopped pacing as he heard the second utterance of his name, his wings spreading out along with his hands in a wide sweeping gesture of hopeless bitterness. “What? It’s all I can come up with, OK?”

“Stan. Shut up for a second.” Ford’s eyes scanned the breadth of Stan’s wings in their entirety, glad for the view Stan had unwittingly given him.

“What happened to your wings?”

Stan blinked at him for a second in a daze before his expression shifted to horror and he followed Ford’s gaze. He quickly curled his wings inwards, tight and vaguely hidden, shielding himself from Ford’s stare as well. “Nothing. Nothing’s happened to them.”

“Stan, if nothing’s happened. How-how come I can’t see- where are your-” Ford couldn’t bring himself to say the words, his eyes wide and horrified as the world seemed to crash around him. It was one thing for it to be improper to pluck a few feathers here and there but it was another thing entirely to see _this_ of all things. More horror stories slipped in one ear and out the other as he waited, a swirling hum of dark thoughts that almost held him under their sway.

He’d blame the head wound again for that later, but right now all he felt was nauseous at the implications behind what he was seeing. “Lee…”

Stan winced at that. He’d never been able to lie to that nickname, or that disappointed hurt tone. “What? They clipped them, alright? Last time they caught me. Thought I wouldn’t be able to escape that way.” He snorted, arms crossing and wings tightening around him as he spoke, his voice self-deprecating even as his body was at odds with the tone. “Jokes on them because you know, never did learn how to fly. That fear of heights did me well in the long run. So, don’t you worry about this none, I wasn’t using them anyway.”

“How can you say that? It’s-it’s! I can’t even-" Ford could feel his brain short circuiting at the images going through his head. He sat up, tried to stand up to go to his brother because it didn’t matter what they had been through, what arguments they had between them, this was _not_ acceptable. This was not allowed to have happened. Not to Stanley, not to his brother who should never have had to deal with Wing Collectors in the first place.

“Hey, you, slow down. You’ve taken quite a whack to the head. They thought you were me and wanted to keep you down, remember?” Stan was at his side again in an instant as he swayed on his feet, his wings wobbling along with him and slightly windmilling to keep him upright until Stan took over and they fell listlessly to his sides again. “Honestly, I get it, you’ve been shielded from a lot of the unsavoury stuff in your college and all that but this isn’t something you have to worry about. I got myself into this mess, remember?”

Before Ford utter anything more than a wounded noise, Stan continued, an ice cold flood slipping down his back at the words.

“Besides, s’not the worst that’s happened.”

“Stan, how would you be reacting if it was me saying all of this? You can’t tell me not to worry.”

Ford waited for another response, but none came as he stared at his brother whose face was now at odds, a mixture of utter pain at the thought of his brother going through what he had and somehow some twisted relief that it was him that it had happened to instead.

That was it. Ford was taking matters into his own hands now.

“You are not allowed to give up your wings for me, do you hear me?”

Stan blinked. The conversation kept shifting just out of his grip and he was starting to grow concerned that it was him that had the concussion not his brother somehow. “Say, what now?”

“You are not doing anything of the sort. We are getting out of this stupid mess together and then you’re coming up with me to Gravity Falls where it is safe and we’re actually going to sit down and talk about everything without a looming threat above our heads making it happen, do you understand me?”

“I-wait, what?”

Ford sighed, his hand snaking out and fluttering over to Stan’s wings, a pained sound escaping him as he brushed over where the clipped feathers should be before instead focusing on preening and setting straight the ones he could reach. He looked up as Stan stared down at him in surprise, his wings moving subconsciously closer to the small act of kindness even as his face betrayed his suspicions. A sharp stab went through Ford’s chest that this was seen as too good to be true, that Stan marred this simple act of respect and family now with mistrust even though it had been an action they had used to calm one another down through nightmares and bad moments with their father when they were kids. It showed just how long Stan had gone without the gesture. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. What I meant was; if you want to repay me for the science fair, you should make it through this and come back with me and talk everything through like adults. I can’t- you can’t tell me that you’ve literally had worse than your wings being _clipped_ and expect me to just walk out of here and leave you to the Wing Collectors, can you?”

“…Pa would.”

Ford hissed. He couldn’t even refute that. “Yeah, well I’m not him. I was angry, yes. Heck, I still am, but I never hated you Stanley. Not really. Hard to hate your twin when he had your back for 17 years. Besides maybe it’s time we talked it through and worked passed it all, you know?”

Stan stared at him, his eyes still sceptical of the whole situation. “Well, I would like to know how you’ve been doing since I got kicked out…”

“Good then that settles it. We’re getting out of here together.”

Stan shook his head, a small scoff leaving him as he smiled though it was slightly hollow. “I’m going to assume this is the bump to the head talking but hell, it gives me some motivation to get us both out of this mess we’re in. And once you’ve come to your senses at least I’ll know you’re safe and sound at home.”

“It’s not the head wound talking but if it gets you on board then I’ll let you believe whatever you want to believe for now.” Ford smirked, looking passed Stan to the door and back again, raising an eyebrow as his eyes twinkled mischievously.  He clapped a hand to Stan’s shoulder, the closest he could get to contact without Stan most probably panicking about his injury again.

“So? What’s the plan, Knucklehead?”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I hope you liked it Cirilee! I was going to add them preening like you were hoping for but I couldn’t make it fit considering they’d just met. My assumption is they get out of this mess, get themselves to the Shack and slightly hysterically have that conversation/most probably end up fretting over one another properly when they’re out of danger.


End file.
